


The Pleasure of Being Known

by grossferatu



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Crying, Everyone is Trans, F/F, Fix-It, M/M, Multi, Orgy, Prompt Fill, Rusty Kinks, Tim Lives, Trans Character, post-Unknowing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 07:43:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21406642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grossferatu/pseuds/grossferatu
Summary: Written for a prompt on rusty-kink:They manage to stop the Unknowing and proceed to have a life-affirming orgy while still bruised and bloodied, right there in the House of Wax, surrounded by the corpses of the Stranger’s avatars. Possibly taking turns fucking Jon until he cries, but I'm not picky about configurations.https://rusty-kink.dreamwidth.org/1380.html?view=194404&posted=1#cmt194404This prompt was posted like a year ago, whoops.
Relationships: Basira Hussain & Melanie King & Alice "Daisy" Tonner & Jonathan Sims, Tim Stoker/Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 3
Kudos: 123
Collections: Rusty Kink





	The Pleasure of Being Known

Tim wakes up.  
  
He doesn't expect to, and at first he's not sure how he feels about the whole thing. He's been so angry for so long, obsessed with vengeance for so much of his life, that knowing the Unknowing is done, that these followers of the Stranger are finished, makes him feel hollow.  
  
He hears coughing to his left and pushes himself up onto his side, moaning in not-terribly-surprised pain as his body reminds him that it was just recently in an explosion. He thinks, for a moment, that there is an eye watching him from one of the cuts in his left hand, but he blinks and it's gone.  
  
The coughing is coming from Daisy. For once, she doesn't look angry. Instead, there is an expression of pained satisfaction on her face as she forces herself to sit up, her face covered in blood and soot.  
  
That's when Tim starts to notice the mangled doll remains and bits of flesh. They look so much less terrifying than they did in the Unknowing, sad little melted remains of formerly horrifying capering dancers. He has the sudden feeling that he won't be able to listen to calliope music without cringing ever again, but dolls will no longer be scary to him.  
  
Most of his clothes have been blown off, leaving him in the tattered remains of a t-shirt and his underwear, and he sees that the other three aren't doing much better. Daisy is just as mostly-naked. He should look away--he can see parts of her breasts and her cock--but he doesn't. He still can't quite believe that he's still alive, and seeing her soft, human body is just so absolutely different from the hard plastic shells of the dancers.  
  
She notices his staring. She smiles, and fear-like arousal lurches in his gut when he sees how her gaze turns predatory.  
  
"We're still alive, aren't we?" she asks, just loud enough for him to hear. The best word to describe her movement towards him is prowling, a hunter on the move, and all Tim can do is watch her, legs spread, bracing himself with his hands behind his back. "I don't know how you're doing, but I am very hungry."  
  
She pushes him to the ground, pinning his wrists with her hands, and kisses him roughly, tongue forcing its way into his mouth. He moans, a noise that only gets louder as he feels her cock harden between his legs and the press of her breasts against his chest. He's wetter than he thought he was, and even just the head of her cock pressing against his hole is enough to make him buck upwards.  
  
"Is this the Hunt?" he hears Basira ask, her voice as rough as Daisy's. What should be relief is translated in Tim's body as arousal, and he shudders, suddenly aware that he and Daisy are far from alone.  
  
"I don't know," he gasps.  
  
Daisy sits back. He whines, using his suddenly free hands to push down his boxers, push up his shirt, exposing his cunt, his soft stomach, the curve of his throat. He doesn't know why, but he needs to submit to Daisy, to take everything she wants to give to him.  
  
"That was, certainly," Daisy says. She sounds absurdly pleased with herself. "Care to join us?"  
  
Before Basira can answer, Tim realizes that they are being watched. Jon is awake then, he thinks, and he Knows it with absolute certainly when the Archivist's sight hits him like a freight train to the chest.  
  
"You're alive," the archivist almost whimpers, and he barrels into the three of them, usual aversion to touch be damned. He's babbling, but Tim doesn't seem to care. He's absurdly pleased by the sudden tangle of bodies they find themselves in, soft human touch driving hard plastic even further from his sense memory. They are all three so very solid, even Jon, even though Jon's scars look almost like they're winking at him. "You're alive, you're alive, you're alive."  
  
He's crawling all over the three of them, kissing and scratching and mouthing strange broken noises into their skin. He's desperate, pathetic, and Tim is absurdly aroused. Perhaps the remnants of the Unknowing confuse his body, or perhaps he's just warped, a twisted, broken excuse for a man who takes pleasure in the idea of having sex on the floor of a theater from hell.  
  
Some instinct, one he can't exactly place the origin of, makes him join Daisy and Basira in pinning Jon to the ground, forcing him to be the object of affection, of pleasure, of _touch_.  
  
Daisy fucks him first, brutal and rough, splitting him open with her cock and holding him down by the throat as Tim watches and Basira plants desperate kisses along her spine. Daisy comes with an animal scream, and Jon lets out a pathetic little moan as she pulls out, her cum dribbling from his hole and onto the ground.  
  
Basira is a little softer, even as Daisy and Tim curl around her like strange vines, touching her and Jon as much as possible. Is this the Flesh? No, because this is not fear, this is Knowing, this is certainly, this is the opposite of calliope music and confusion and dancing skins.  
  
Tim shudders in time with Basira's orgasm, and then it's his turn. First, he takes a moment to kiss away Jon's tears, letting his soft whimpers go in time with the archivist's sobs, and then he presses his fingers between Jon's legs and strokes him off, savoring each choked off gasp between cries.  
  
He lets out his own cry as Daisy enters him from behind. How is she hard again? He's not sure, and he's not sure he cares, either, even as he feels Basira's softer cock between his legs too.  
  
How will he return to anything other than this touching, than this sensation, this knowledge that he is alive? He shudders to completion around Daisy's cock even as Jon lets out one strangled shout and then goes very still.  
  
Somehow, they fall asleep like that, all together, a tangle of limbs and teeth and genitals and hair and smells. They are alive. They are human.  
  
Maybe, someday, Tim will no longer feel like crying.


End file.
